Title: His hands

Author: Bellamortsdaughternesha

Summary: His hands were her salvation.

Disclaimer: Any recognizable character, plot, or setting does not belong to me. They belong to the incredible geniuses that created them. If they were mine I wouldn’t let Roslin or Adama go… specially not Adama :P

Authors Note: This is kinda fluffy and kinda angsty, as best as I can, which is not that good. There aren’t a lot of dialogues, its mostly memories. No baby fic this time.

Spoilers: Probably all seasons although I do go a bit AU in some parts but I think it sticks to the canon story.

Special Dedication: To my Mello who helped me clear the plot bunnies in my mind and gave me this promp: “Lauras POV about Bill” after much cajoling we settled on his hands :P.

~*~

The cancer was eating her away. Slowly she was being taken over by something she couldn’t defeat. Slowly her body was betraying her leaving her sickly, tired, and even unable to pick herself up to cross the cabin. Her skin had grown clammy, losing its color, losing the beauty that she so wanted to keep. She knew that those that cared about her would never think less of her but she had an image to maintain and a fleet to lead and being sick and tired was not an option.

Laura Roslin had to have help to cross the cabin.

It pained her, deeply, that she was slowly slipping away. She was slowly leaving the fleet without even knowing if they would ever reach their destiny. She was slowly slipping from her friends; the people who had transcended the simple title of ‘fleet’ and become something she couldn’t live without. She was slowly losing herself in all the chaos that had become her body. But what hurt her the most, what pained her the most, was that she was slowly leaving the one man she loved.

Laura Roslin was leaving William Adama.

It wasn’t a matter of the president dying and leaving the Admiral to look after the fleet. It was more than that; it was a woman, a simple woman, leaving the love of her life, a simple man, for the rest of his life. Why had the gods condemned her, condemned them, to this destiny?

“Bill?” Her voice did not sound like her own. Instead of the usual silky voice laced with happiness she usually didn’t show it was gruff, deeper than usual, and almost death. She tried to raise herself as best as she could which resulted in her barely able to support her weight on her arms. “Bill?” she looked around, trying to see where the light was coming from so that she could know where he was.

The muffled sound of heavy boots alerted her to his advance. He was coming from his office. Why was the light off? Why was he sitting in the dark?

His image was that of concern. His face was scrounged with confusion, his eyes were sparkling with worry as he moved towards his rack, where she was laying. “Are you alright, Laura?” He asked her, his hands immediately cupping her shoulders.

“Yes… yes.” She said, her head bobbing up and down as best as she could which barely made any movement at all. If she had her long hair her curls would have bobbed up and down and he would have been able to see better with the dim light that surrounded her. “I need…out.” She whispered. She knew he understood after all he had been helping her for more than a month now. She had been having panic attacks in which the covers served as a burial cloth from which she couldn’t wake up.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked her, not questioning why she wanted to get out of his rack.

She smirked up at him. Even through her sickness she still found the strength to tease him as often as she could. She wanted to cherish each and every one of those moments, to leave a trace of her image in his mind for him to call back when she was gone. If nobody remembered her, if nobody remembered Laura the president, she would be fine because she knew that Bill would remember Laura the woman. “Your arms… your lap… your couch.”

She saw his eyebrow raising and she couldn’t suppress her smile. He didn’t even try to hide his and instead gave her a grin that lit up the whole room without the need for the artificial light. “You are incorrigible.” He told her, repeating the words she had said to him countless times.

Instead of telling her to go back to his rack that everything was alright, like any other man would do, Bill gently reached for her, his hands being offered for support in her trek. Slowly she untangled her legs and then swung them to the side. He took hold of her hands and gently pulled her up, very careful not to hurt her. His hands in hers. His hands pulling her up. His hands guiding her towards his body. His hands holding her. His hands.

Laura lost herself completely in the feel of his hands, so much that she was walking without really thinking where she was walking to. All she could feel was his hands, one on her left shoulder which pulled her to his left side and one cupping her belly, holding her upright. His hands were her undoing.

Strong hands to support her. Strong, large hands to hold her against him. Strong, large, and tender hands that made love to her. Strong, large, tender, and calloused hands that protected her.

Bill Adama’s hands had Laura Roslin’s complete attention.

She couldn’t understand why she was so centered in his hands but she was not going to stop savoring their feeling. It was as if she could feel every single time that his hands had touched her. She could remember every hand shake, she could remember every pressure of his hand on her back as it guided her through the corridors of the ship, she could remember every tender caress that soothed her, loved her, ignited her; she could remember every single time.

The first time she had felt their strength was not the first time they had met. Then he had simply shaken her hand delicately, almost as if he was afraid to hurt the Secretary of Education. The first time she felt the power his hands was when he finally accepted her as the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. He had reached his hand out, palm stretched, and she had slid her hand into his, closing her fingers around his hand. He had done the same but with more strength almost as if he was telling her through his touch that she would be respected. His fingers pressed against her palm, hers against his palm, and she had melted within.

His guidance was constantly felt in the verbal sparring that she had with him, particularly when it had to do with the fleet. However, it was never stronger than it was when he put his hand on the low part of her back, right on the dip of her lower back and upper bottom. He would gently guide her through the corridors of Galatica, his fingers applying pressure to where she should turn although she knew it was probably unconscious. The pressure reassured her, guided her, protected her from getting lost in the plain and confusing corridors which could either take her to his cabin or to the hanger. When it wasn’t there, when they were apart, she felt lost not knowing where to turn and simply allowing her escort to guide her through the corridors she should have learned to differentiate. Now that she thought back she probably had not learn them in order to feel that gentle pressure, that tender guidance that his hand gave her.

That same guidance he had offered during Colonial Day. At first she had thought he had been joking but as his arm extended for her to take, as he guided her towards the ‘dance floor’, and as he gently enveloped her in his arms she knew that it wasn’t a joke. His hand had once more found its way to the exact spot of her back and he had soon been leading her in expert dance moves, so unlike those around her, and so like themselves. The hand that wasn’t on his shoulder gently held unto his thumb. She knew they were dancing old style, but she didn’t care, it allowed her to be close to him, allowed her to feel his gentle hand guiding her movements while his other hand supported her own. It was perfect. It made her feel perfect.

Although his hand on her back was present from the start of the ‘amicable relationship’, the touch of his hand on her cheek was the start of their ‘friendship’

They had been endlessly pouring over the dozens of reports that were neatly piled into two, complements no doubt of Billy. The Searider Falcon was placed in between the two piles, the place where Laura had left it so that she wouldn’t lose it. They were in complete silence, her hair proving to be a curtain between them as she hunched over a particularly hard to understand report. Honestly, who taught them how to write?

He had been talking about something to which she simply replied with soft sounds of agreement or denial. She was about to sigh in agreement when she suddenly felt the pain. Instinct had made her reach to cover her breast, press her hand against her own chest to relieve the sudden pressure she was feeling. A cry was caught in her throat and refused to leave her lips. When the pain had alleviated enough for her to not need the pressure she slowly released her breast. The knowledge of what she had done made her sickly skin actually gain color and she turned away as she blushed. As if it was the most normal thing he had reached over, pushed back her hair, and gently caressed her cheek. It wasn’t long and it wasn’t a deep caress the kind that you can feel for days after it has happened, but it was enough for her to know that he was there for her, that he supported her, and that he felt something much more than friendship; a deeper understanding.

She continued remembering as he continued to guide her. She didn’t need to know where.

They had constantly faced the uncertain together, constantly faced the fact that their tight bond in leading the fleet could be broken. She had never thought it would be over someone with more rank coming between them. Cain had proven to be a surprise, and not the kind she liked. She had torn a canyon between Bill and her in seconds and she had to suffer through seeing Bill backing up. At first she simply allowed herself to believe it was protocol, but then she had feared that it was because he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, deal with a dying woman. It had pained her far beyond what the cancer could do to her body. When Cain was reported dead she knew that she had been placing her thoughts in the wrong place; he simply had done what he had done all his life. He had followed his orders, willingly, but Laura was not willing to go through the ordeal again.

Instead of giving up Laura promoted him; he deserved it after all his years of service and after once more pulling their collective asses from danger. She had been giddy, even tickled, as he opened the velvet box. Her face was expectant as she judged his reaction and she couldn’t help but tease him when he finally realized what she was giving him. Soon their time had been up, she had to go back to being the ugly president instead of the giving president. She had tried to stand up but she knew that she needed his help. His hand had instantly been there to support her arm, to help her up. She hadn’t wanted to let go, and he hadn’t either. She didn’t know who finally did but before she knew it his hand was on her skin again.

He was gently touching her chin, raising it so that he could see into her eyes. She looked deep within his and froze, although it wasn’t a fear freezing, just a freezing that came with the knowledge that something powerful and delicate was about to happen. His hand applied just the right amount of pressure for her to lean in a little bit, his face making most of the travel, and his lips had been on hers the next second. A fleeting reassuring kiss while his fingers supported her chin, supported her soul.

His hand once more signaled the transition from “deep understanding friendship” to “something else”.

Many thought that the first time they had held hands was on the corridors of Galactica. Most of them were surprised to see the Admiral and the President, or ex President as it was, walk hand in hand, nonchalantly. Laura had once more felt giddy but she knew very well how to hide it. She had been dwelling on their stares, trying to figure out what they were thinking, and trying not to giggle at the error of their thoughts.

It hadn’t been the first time Bill held her hand in his own. Back in New Caprica his hand had encased hers, their fingers intertwined as she pulled him towards the spot she most liked of the new planet. They had gone through the muddy parts of the planet with him helping her through, she had guided him through the slight forest which was too small to be even considered a forest, and finally she had stood by his side, his hand gently squeezing hers, the little stream with the clear water in front of them.

They stayed there all night and didn’t leave until dawn, his hand still holding hers.

Laura then had to live with repeats of the caresses, almost always hidden from the view of the fleet. His hand would only cup her back when they were walking in the hallways, and that was about the extent of the public display. In his quarters, however, he would touch her cheek, her chin occasionally to kiss her fleetingly, and a shake of the hand when they reached an agreement.

But that was all it ever was until the day they decided to live.

She had waited for him in his rack, tired of having to be a character she didn’t want to be. For the first time she wished she wasn’t dying for her fleet, but it was also the last time she ever thought of it. She had turned off all the lights and had lit the small amount of candles that she had found. Strategically placed she was bathed in light waiting for him on the rack. She knew that he would never stop being the perfect gentleman he was so she was ready to be the one to take the step.

When he had walked in, exhausted from trying to keep the crew and the rest of the fleet from falling into more despair, she had been ready for him to see. For him to accept that he needed to live just like she did.

He had looked at her, his tiredness rolling off as if it was a cover that could simply be peeled away. She had whispered his name and he had walked towards her. Kisses hand been exchanged, shoulders hand been cupped, clothes had been removed, and they had finally been joined as one. His hands, all the time, gentle and almost revering as they mapped the contours of her body. He was never hard, caressing and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to make her feel perfect. His calloused fingers had enticed her and lit her on fire until they had both reached their climax.

Afterwards, enveloped in his arms even when the call had interrupted them, he had cupped her arm and part of her breast with his hand, pulling her towards him, securing her against his. She had never felt his hands be so guiding and so supporting, and at the same time so loving and so tender.

Perhaps she had never felt his tenderness until the moment he soothed her pain away. While her whole body was in pain, while it rolled in waves through her, it was always so much deeper in her left breast; the place her cancer had sprung from. The pain had wakened her, gasping for air as she tried to breathe through it and found unable to do so. He had wakened the moment he felt her jump, his eyes wide and alert. He quickly noticed that she was holding her naked breast; applying pressure and his hand had covered her hand and helped her.

Once the sharpest part of the pain went away she relaxed, her breath still hard and fast. Slowly she had released her breast but his hand had remained on it, lingering, barely there. He had soon rearranged them so that his face was leveled with her distended breast. She blushed, unable to stop him from looking at the part of her body that had betrayed her. She wasn’t uncomfortable but slightly self conscious. His hand gently cupped her breast, his finger softly kneading the heated flesh. This wasn’t sexual at all; this was him trying to push the cancer away, trying to rid her of the pain. His hand had been joined by his lips, gently leaving kisses where he could feel the bumps of her cancer.

For a single moment Laura had been rid of her cancer and it had all been done by Bill’s hands.

“Bill” she had whispered when it happened and as she remembered she didn’t realize she had actually voiced her soft thank you.

“Are you alright?” He asked her, worried as he gently held her in his lap. He had helped her from her rack to the sofa, placed her in his lap and cuddled her close. Her eyes had remained close most of the time and he knew that she wasn’t exactly there.

Her eyes finally opened but instead of looking into his eyes she stared at his hands. She didn’t think she was a hand woman, at least not any hands; they had to be Bill Adama’s hands for her to get called to attention. They had to be the hands of the man she loved, the hands that held her and protected her just like they were doing at this moment.

She gently traced them, traced their strength, and traced their tenderness. His calloused hands felt rough against her sickly hand but she loved that feeling; it reminded her of what they had been through, of the survival they had managed to pull off for the past five years of their lives. When her exploring fingers finally met his wedding band, cold against her touch, she was reminded that these hands also held his commitment; to his family, to his fleet, to her. How she wished that what she had seen courtesy of Elosha could really happen.

That he’d slip his ring into her finger making her his wife.

But she knew it wouldn’t happen, she wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him but it was that his ring was part of his hand, part of the feeling that his hand evoked in her. If it lost any part of it, even if it was the ring, she knew that part of him would be lost and he wouldn’t be the man that she loved.

“I’ve never been better.” Her late answer came as a whisper as she continued to caress his hands. She knew he would understand what she meant.

His eyes went down to look at her hands, gently tracing his hands, immortalizing them in her dying mind. He understood.

His hands were her salvation.